


I Know That...

by orphan_account



Category: Hockey RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Blow Jobs, Boston Bruins, Established Relationship, Fainting, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Sappy Ending, Semi-Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:39:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For two people whose job description includes hits to the head, Johnny and Adam know lots of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You're Here, There's Nothing I Fear

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are titled so that you read them "I Know That... *insert chapter title here*" and it becomes something that the main character of each chapter (Adam or Johnny, duh) knows.
> 
> Just so you know.

                He was flying.

                This was the part of hockey that he loved the most; floating over the ice, feeling like he wasn’t even touching it, feeling airborne, and feeling like he could stay that way forever. But then the inevitable happened. He felt himself slip back into his body, as he always did, shattering the fantasy.

                He didn’t look around, just locked his gaze onto the puck. He could get to it in time, he _knew_ he could. He didn’t look for Quaider; he knew that Quaider knew where to be, knew how to get there. He knew Quaider had his man _and_ Johnny’s back. Quaider was always there. _Almost, almost_. He took a few short strides, stretched out his arm, reaching too far, far enough that he knew he’d be sore tomorrow, reaching for the puck. But his stick didn’t connect. He _just_ missed it.

                And then something slammed into his back, sending him really flying this time. He slammed into the boards in a jumble of bodies, with a loud _crunch_ of sticks and helmets and skates all hitting the wall at once. He just lay there for a moment, on his stomach, one arm still stretched out in front of him, still clutching at his stick, something heavy— _a body_ , he dully registered—draped across his back, pinning him to the ice.

                It took a moment to register, but once it did, Johnny realized that it was actually the worst thing he had ever felt. Pain shot through his body and when he opened his mouth to scream all he could taste was blood.

                Segs was the first to see it, shouting as Johnny hit the ice. His voice echoed through the suddenly silent rink. Johnny was pretty sure that he actually _heard_ every camera turn towards him, flashes going off as they sweep over him.

                He didn’t know who was hurt or where, but, regardless, blood was no longer seeping slowly from the wound and onto the ice in front of him; it was gushing now, dripping down Johnny’s neck and forming a pink pool as its heat melted the ice. All he could see was the deep red blood spreading over the blue-white ice pooling next to his gloved hand, turning the white letters of his name where is was stitched into the material red. _That’s gonna stain_ , he thought to himself.

                Johnny felt his lungs deflate as he struggled to breathe. As much as he tried, he couldn’t seem to hold on to anything; his air was escaping and his whole world was going dark too fast for him to process. Suddenly the pressure on his back was gone and he rolled over, trying to alleviate some of the pressure in his chest.

                Adam’s face flashed above him in an instant and before he knew what was happening, Quaider was calling for help, telling someone to call an ambulance, anything to help. Quiader violently undid Johnny’s chin strap and practically tore the helmet from his head. Johnny felt one of Adam’s hands press hard against his neck and couldn’t help but flinch away from his partner’s freakishly cold skin. “What did you do?” Adam half-shouted, placing the back of his other hand on Johnny’s cheek. Worry had consumed him and the anxiety in his big green eyes made Johnny’s heart hurt and he wanted to lift his own hand to Adam’s face to comfort him but he didn’t have any strength left. Even breathing was hard. “What did you do?” he repeated, this time sounding desperate, but his face was disappearing, the color leeching out like paper fading in the summer sunshine.

                Johnny saw the darkness lowering like a curtain, rather than felt his eyelids flutter shut; his heart felt like it was trying to beat without any blood in it. The pain suddenly went  fuzzy at the edges. Johnny heard Adam shout, “Fuck!” Then there was darkness.

                Air. No air. Black.

                Noise still penetrated the blackness, though. Shouting. So much shouting. Skating, too fast, the odd squeal of trainers’ sneakers on the ice as players rushed them over. Idly, Johnny still wondered who had been hurt badly enough to warrant the trainers. Couldn’t be him. Couldn’t be.

                “Johnny!”

                Adam.

                “Johnny!” a thousand voices shouted from all sides. “Johnny!”

                “Johnny!”

                The last one he heard was Adam, sounding positively frantic, “JOHNNY!”

                Then silence.


	2. I'll Never Let Go 'Til You're Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t there.
> 
> Johnny needed him and he wasn’t there.
> 
> Adam wasn’t there.

Adam had his back turned.  He was focused on his man, the new kid, the call-up, the—Slovenian? Slovakian?—European one. He wasn’t there for Johnny. He didn’t see the fall. Didn’t watch Johnny reach out, leaned over, stretching for the puck. Didn’t see two opposing forwards chasing him down. Didn’t have time to call out a warning. Didn’t watch their sticks and skates and limbs tangle, didn’t notice the angles as they fell. Didn’t see Johnny slam facedown into the boards, hand in front of his head. He _did_ hear the _thud_ , and looked up, but didn’t realize it was _him_ , not until Segs’s cries echoed throughout the arena.

                He wasn’t there.

                But when he saw a black jersey lying there underneath two white ones and a puddle of blood forming under all three of them, he felt a pang of dread forming in the pit of his stomach.

                There was a lot of blood. It took Adam about two seconds to realize that it was Johnny as soon as he starting skating over, his heartbeat pounding in his head. When you spend hours upon hours upon hours with the same group of people, you start being able to distinguish them by stupid little things, like the tilt of their helmet or their tape job. And sometimes, you don’t even know how you know, you just _know_. For Adam, Johnny had always been pretty distinctive, always one he could pick out of a crowd. When the black-shirted player rolled to his side, Adam’s fears were only confirmed; those pale blue eyes were unmistakable.

                Adam was thinking concussion, he was thinking spinal fracture…until he saw that the puddle of blood wasn’t just forming under the players, it was forming under _Johnny_. He felt his own blood drain from his face as his eyes focused on the red stain spreading under Johnny’s cheek.

                From there, it only got worse. When Johnny rolled onto his back, it was obvious where the blood was coming from: a horrible long gash in his neck. Adam was there in an instant and could barely hear his own muddled shouts, a panicked combination of English and profanity. He knew there was only one thing out here that could slice like that, and that was a skate blade. Adam shook off his gloves and fell to his knees beside Johnny, ripping off the older man’s helmet and immediately putting as much pressure as he could on the cut without crushing Johnny’s windpipe. “What did you _do_?” he cried. Johnny jerked suddenly, as though touched by a livewire, gasping for breath, and spewing a disturbing amount of frothy, bloody bubbles from his beautiful mouth. Johnny’s glacial blue eyes were unfocused, roving wildly past Adam as his gloved hands clutched at nothing. “What did you do?” Adam repeated pleadingly. The medical staff swarmed Johnny and there was a loud choked inhale, blood flowing steadily from the ghastly tear in his throat. He coughed on blood, choking, eyes clenched tight just before his face went lax.

                And suddenly nothing else mattered. Nothing.

                He wasn’t there.

                Johnny needed him and he wasn’t there.

                Adam wasn’t there.

                “I have to go,” he choked, knowing full well that no one was listening, and sprinting for the locker room. As he skated as fast as he could off the ice, he took once glance backwards, a glance that showed him Johnny, surrounded by at least half a dozen med staff, Segs, clinging to Bergy, both openmouthed in horror, and the opposing skater whose blade was still dripping crimson behind him. Adam reached the trashcan closest to the door of the tunnel and threw up twice in quick succession.

                Adam slowly staggered into the room and sank down in his stall, head buried in his hands. He didn’t feel anything. He tried to process, but he couldn’t. The only thought going through his head is _oh my god, oh my god, oh my god_. What had just happened out there…Adam wasn’t sure, but he knew that what just happened out there was an injury that could seriously threaten Johnny’s career, not to mention his life. Johnny loved hockey so much. Adam couldn’t think about anything but the man who never stopped smiling when he was on the ice—any ice—, the one who took so much joy from the game.

                Adam went to the sink just as Bergy came into the locker room. He caught Adam’s eyes in the mirror as Adam turned on the water and stuck his hand underneath, watched the water run red. “What?” he bit out, his voice tight.

                Bergy looked straight at him from where he was standing in the doorway, his eyes empty.  “Adam…Johnny…he’s not gonna make it.”

                Adam flinched, head spinning. This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. He shook his head.

                “Quaider?”

                “Yeah,” he whispered. “Still here.”

                The world should have been over. The sky should have gone dark. But the world kept turning on its axis, unaffected, unmoved, and unchanged. But not for Adam. For Adam, everything had halted in place. And nothing would ever be the same.

                “Johnny is dead.” He tested the words under his breath and when they echoed back from the tile walls and floor of the locker room, they felt about a hundred times louder and just like acid in an open cut. It wasn’t the same as saying “Johnny is six foot two” or “Johnny’s eyes remind me of a Siberian huskie puppy’s”.

                It’s not a nice thing when hockey players happen to die.


	3. Nothing Could Be Worse Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam heard the whispers in the locker room.  
> Johnny Boychuk got hurt.  
> Johnny Boychuk is in the hospital.  
> Is Johnny Boychuk dead?

Adam heard the whispers in the locker room.

                Johnny Boychuk got hurt.

                Johnny Boychuk got his throat slit.

                Johnny Boychuk left in an ambulance.

                Johnny Boychuk is in the hospital.

                Johnny Boychuk is the new Clint Malarchuk.

                Is Johnny Boychuk dead?

                And it was all Adam could do to keep from punching a wall.

                He dressed faster than he ever had before, he was sure of it. On his way out, he stopped in front of the trainer, “Where is Johnny?”

                The man looked up at him from where he was taping up Krejci’s wrist, “What?”

                “Where is Johnny?” he repeated. “I have to go there.”

                “You can’t.”

                _No, you don’t understand._ “I _have_ to,” Adam stressed, aware that he was starting to sound panicked.

                “ _No_ ,” the trainer repeated, catching hold of Adam’s arm, “You _can’t._ Besides, it’s not like there’s anything you can do there.”

                Something inside of Adam broke. “Let go of me!” he screamed, spinning away, out of control. His breathing hitched in his chest and a god-awful amount of people were staring but he just didn’t care. Johnny was gone. Johnny was gone because Adam wasn’t there for him. He couldn’t stop screaming, couldn’t breathe. The room twirled like a bad hangover. He clutched at his head and sank to the floor.

                “Adam!” someone yelled. The world was blurry but Adam caught sight of the ridiculous nose.

                “Brad! Brad, he’s gone. Johnny…he’s,” Adam choked on the sentence. He tried to jerk away but the trainer only grabbed his arm tighter. He yelped in pain.

                “Let him go!” Brad shouted. “Can’t you see you’re hurting him?”

                “He has to go home,” the trainer said, his voice tight. “He can’t go there.”

                Brad sighed, his voice sounding defeated. “Okay, alright,” he assured the man. “I’ll take him from here.”

                Brad grabbed Adam’s shoulder and manhandled him out of the locker room. “No, Brad, you don’t…stop, fuck, let me go, you can’t…I gotta…fuck, _stop_ …I have to…you don’t underst—,” Adam protested until Brad reached up and slapped a hand over his mouth, surprising Adam and thoroughly shutting him up.

                “Don’t fucking tell _me_ I don’t understand,” he hissed, going up on his tiptoes to whisper the words right into Adam’s ear. “I understand perfectly well.” Brad looked at him, his eyes clouded with pain and that was when Adam remembered…Brad had known Johnny for years, since they all played together for the Baby B’s, since Brad was just twenty. Johnny had been like Brad’s big brother, the one who was always willing to stick around after practice to bank shots off the goalie or just play-fight a little.

                “If he’s dead, Brad…I have to go.”

                “Adam...he’s not dead.”

                Adam stumbled back a step, squeezing his eyes shut tight, “You’re lying.”

                “No.” When he opened his eyes, Brad was holding Adam’s bag in one hand, extended toward the taller man. “Take your stuff,” he said quietly.

                Brad pushed him outside. Brad got him a cab, told the driver the name of the hospital. Adam sat there in the back, numbness spreading through his entire body as he reflected on what had happened, listened to the cabbie talk without hearing any of the words.

                All the way there, all twenty minutes of his cab ride to the hospital, Adam couldn’t help but wonder: did Johnny see the blade rushing towards him? Did he try to get out of the way? Did he see it coming? Did it scare him? Or was it sudden, and surprising? Adam didn’t know which was better.

                He didn’t know which was worse.


	4. You're Strong All The Way Through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam was standing over a corpse.
> 
> ‘Cause that was all that was left of the man he loved. A broken, bloody corpse. No way Adam could put him back together.
> 
> Johnny wasn’t the new Clint Malarchuk. He was Humpty fucking Dumpty.

The hospital was terrifying. Adam hated hospitals to begin with simply because of what they represented—time away from the game. But this time it wasn’t Adam in there, it was Johnny, and that made it even worse. It wasn’t hard to find someone to get Adam pointed in the right direction but when he got there, it was awful.

                He was directed to a smallish room with a couch and a couple chairs and told to sit.

                Just sit.

                Because “Mr. McQuaid, there is nothing you can do”.

                Someone touched Adam’s arm, startling him awake with a grunt. “Hey,” Bergy murmured, sitting down beside him.

                “Time ‘s it?” Adam mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep.

                “’Bout five thirty.” Adam twisted his wrist to look at his watch; five twenty-seven. He scrubbed a hand over his face and looked around. Fer was curled up in a chair across from Adam, twirling a pen between his fingers as he worked on a crossword puzzle. Brad was sitting on the couch, his face crumpled into an origami of sadness and pain. Segs and Bergy were also in the room, dressed in jeans and sweaters. Adam realized that he was still wearing his gameday suit.

                 “Hear anything?” he asked.

                Bergy shrugged, “They told us he was in surgery, still. That was about an hour ago.”

                Johnny was still in surgery. Johnny had had to have _surgery_.

                Johnny was still in surgery. Johnny was still alive.

                Adam’s heart pounded in his throat as he barely dared to hope.

                There had been so much blood. Johnny’s blood. Adam never wanted to see Johnny’s blood outside of Johnny’s body ever again.

                Just then the door opened and a man in pale green scrubs walked in. “You can come see him now.”

                Adam didn’t remember lurching out of his chair or crossing the room in four steps. He didn’t remember following the—doctor? Surgeon? Who cared?—man through a maze of hallways and elevators. He only remembered standing frozen in a doorway, staring.

                There he was.

                Adam was standing over a corpse.

                ‘Cause that was all that was left of the man he loved. A broken, bloody corpse. No way Adam could put him back together.

                Johnny wasn’t the new Clint Malarchuk. He was Humpty fucking Dumpty.

                Johnny was lying in a bed in his hospital gown. Monitors surrounded him. Three IV lines fed into his left arm and his index finger was covered with a plastic cap that connected him to yet another monitor, flashing his vitals in multi-colored horror. Adam could clearly see a dark bruise staining his cheek, contrasting drastically against the bright white bandage at his throat. He eyed the shadow Johnny’s impossibly long eyelashes made on the swollen curve of his cheek, ignored the need to curl up beside Johnny and protect him from everything that could harm him for the rest of eternity.

                “Johnny,” Adam whispered, surprised to find that his voice came out sounding frantic. “Johnny, Jesus fuck.”

                The doctor—that was what Adam assumed he was; wasn’t everyone in scrubs always a doctor?—cleared his throat.

                Adam swallowed hard, “What happened to him?”

                The man fidgeted with the clipboard in his hands. “The blade sliced into his windpipe and carotid artery. He lost a lot of blood; if he’d lost much more, he wouldn’t have gotten up.” Adam blanched. “It was touch-and-go there for a while,” the man continued, “But we got the bleeding under control. Now it’s just a waiting game.”

                It still looked touch-and-go to Adam, miracles of modern medicine pumping existence into Johnny through plastic tubes. “Why isn’t he awake? When will the sedatives wear off?”

                “There are no more sedatives in his system. He is unconscious.”

                Words no any hockey player ever wanted to hear.

                “So when will he wake up?”

                “He’s had some swelling in his brain, so it’s hard for us to predict the extent of the damage at this point. He could wake up just fine or there might be…complications. His brain was deprived of oxygen and we really don’t know for how long. So, like I said, there might be complications.”

                Adam really, _really_ didn’t even want to know.

                He nodded and the doctor gave him a supportive smile before closing the door.

                He sat down hard on the edge of Johnny’s hospital bed, let one of his huge hands stroke slowly through Johnny’s hair. Johnny’s breaths were shallow and raspy. “Stupid shit,” Adam whispered tightly and still, it felt like not enough. “Jesus Christ, Johnny, I was so fucking scared that you were dead. But you’re not. You’re not. You’re not and I know you; you’re so strong, you’re definitely strong enough to fight this.” Adam shifted on the bed and leaned forward so that his forehead touched Johnny’s, his hand still tangled in Johnny’s hair. “Please, Johnny. I don’t want you to die.”

                The thing about Johnny was that normally he took up a lot of space. Not physically—not always, at least. But he was brash, he laughed the loudest, and he was always smacking people when he talked with his hands. Even when he slept, Johnny thrashed around, and flung his arms out, and horded all the covers. He was a regular octopus once his eyes closed and he drifted off to dreamland. Sometimes he mumbled incoherent words and sometimes he even sleepwalked. He was simply impossible to ignore.

                Johnny was also always warm, even after trekking from the parking lot to the rink in the middle of winter. Even after he announced that he was colder than he had ever been before and goddammit he might be from Canada but this temperature was fucking ungodly and why the fuck was Boston such a fucking wind tunnel anyway?, when Adam would reach to touch him, his skin would always be warm.

                Except now it could really be anyone in the hospital bed under him because that person wasn’t talking or laughing or moving at all.

                It was Johnny’s body for sure but Johnny wasn’t in it.

                In fact, when Adam looked at his face, he couldn’t find him.


	5. We'll Stay Forever This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam sucked in a sharp breath as tears threatened to pool up in his eyes, because this was his Johnny and he was the thing that Adam loved most in the entire world, more than even hockey and he couldn’t imagine his life without Johnny in it anymore, he just couldn’t.

A knock sounded on the half open door later that afternoon. Adam, Bergy, and Brad were all sitting in chairs around Johnny’s bed when they looked up and saw an exhausted-looking Shawn walk in and stop dead in the doorway. His eyes were bloodshot and had pale purple circles under them, like he hasn’t slept yet. Specks of stubble had started to sprout all over his face. Adam had never seen him look that messy and suddenly realized that he must look just as disheveled. Swallowing hard, Shawn struggled obviously to find his voice. “How is he?”

                “He’s still unconscious,” Adam said, his voice flat.

                “ _Oui_ ,” Bergy added, “Wandering around somewhere deep inside his brain.”

                Brad sniffled, “The doctors don’t know if he’s gonna make it or not.”

                Shawn moved to stand beside Johnny’s bed, staring down at him, a look of horror plain upon his face. “Johnny,” he rasped, the name sounding thick and almost awkward in his mouth. He swallowed and tried again, “Jesus, Johnny. Come on back. Come on home.”

                There were no more words after that. The four of them just sat there on either side of the bed, in chairs they had positioned as close to it as possible.

                Segs came back later that evening, telling Brad that it was time to go home. Brad started to cry, big, body-heaving sobs, and Segs had to almost carry him out, whispering softly. Bergy gave Adam and Shawn each a quick hug before he followed them. Then it was just Adam and Shawn left.

                They sat there in silence for Adam-didn’t-know-how-long, listening to the shallow in-and-out of Johnny’s breathing. Hours clicked past. Sometimes Adam would jerk awake to realize that he was asleep and find Shawn staring blankly down at Johnny. Other times, it was Adam watching Johnny while Shawn staggered out of a dream or fought off a nightmare. They were still there when the boys came back the next morning, all visibly agitated.

                “Are the doctors saying anything?” Adam asked, gladly accepting the cup of coffee that Fer handed him.

                “No,” Andrew scoffed. “Of course not.”

                Adam glowered silently for a moment. Brad was the one who finally broke the silence. “But they would try to keep us updated, yeah?”

                “Yeah, sure,” Shawn said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes like he had a massive headache.

                “Are you _sure_?” Brad implored, his voice colored with just a tint of desperation.

                “Yes, Brad, that’s their _job_ ,” Shawn snapped. He watched as Brad’s face fell. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s just…was a long night, eh?”

                It had been a long night.

                The next three were just as long.

                That morning Adam had gotten up and gone to get coffee in the hospital cafeteria himself. Everyone else had gone home that night. Not Adam. He couldn’t leave. What if Johnny needed him? He had to be there.

                Johnny had needed him before and he wasn’t there.

                Adam wasn’t there.

                Well Adam was damn sure gonna be there for Johnny now.

                When he got back with his steaming styrofoam cup, Adam glared at the ugly, uncomfortable-as-hell dark green hospital chair that had been his ass’s home for far too long. “I hate you, chair.”

                “Don’t be mean to the chair,” Johnny rasped. “Did it do anything to you?” It took a moment for Adam to realize who had just spoken and then he was on Johnny like a hurricane. He climbed up on one side of Johnny’s bed and tried to wrap his arms around the older defenseman. “Geez, Quaider,” Johnny chuckled, his voice gravelly and coarse. “Didja miss me?”

                Adam swore under his breathe before he pulled Johnny in, hugging him tightly. “You shut up,” he muttered, leaning down to press his cheek to the top of the other man’s head. “You almost died.”

                He could practically hear Johnny roll his eyes, “I did not almost die.”

                “Yeah, you did,” Adam muttered. “I mean…Jesus _Christ_.”

                “Nope, not Jesus, just me,” Johnny whispered, his soft voice quavering slightly.

                Adam pulled back and stared at his face, feeling like he was memorizing it for a test. “We all thought you were gonna die.” This made Adam suck in a sharp breath as tears threatened to pool up in his eyes, because this was his Johnny and he was the thing that Adam loved most in the entire world, more than even _hockey_ and he couldn’t imagine his life without Johnny in it anymore, he just couldn’t. And he told Johnny just that.

                “It’s okay, Adam,” Johnny said when he was done with his mini-rant, like Adam was the one who was hurt. “I didn’t die, ‘m fine.” He reached out for Adam’s hand. Neither of them moved for a few long, quiet minutes. Then Johnny let out a shaky breath. “You know what?” he rasped softly, his voice weak and rough like someone had been tearing at his vocal cords.

                “Hmmm?”

                Johnny stared right at Adam, his pale blue eyes piercing the younger man’s.  “You are a fucking sap, Adam Mark McQuaid.” And then his face split into his signature grin, the smile that was always full of fucking sunshine and that always made literally _everyone_ around him smile and Adam knew, just _knew_ , that they were gonna be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this okay! It was just a little something that was sitting half finished in the depths of my computer and needed to come out and see the real world.
> 
> Also because there needed to be a Boych/Quaider fic SOMEWHERE.


	6. I Love You And You Love Me And That’s The Way It’s Supposed To Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny couldn’t tell Adam how many days he had hovered somewhere between their world and the next one.
> 
> He couldn’t tell Adam which one was scarier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Chapter.
> 
> Because reasons.

                Johnny blinked. Above him, generic, up-to-code, off-white perlite ceiling tiles. The smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. _Hospital_. In his arm were three plastic tubes, ending in a familiar tugging pain in his hand. IVs? _Huh?_ The air was full of whizzing and beeping noises. “Whoa.” Johnny crinkled his nose.

                Just then, Adam walked into the room, carrying a cup of what-looked-like-really-crappy coffee.

                _Adam_.

                Adam glared at the chair beside Johnny’s bed, like he was trying to set it on fire with his gaze. “I hate you, chair,” he growled.

                “Don’t be mean to the chair,” Johnny said, trying to smile. Adam’s head jerked up, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights of a tractor trailer. “Did it do anything to you?”

                Adam vaulted onto the bed beside him and folded his arms around Johnny.

                “Geez, Quaider,” he murmured. “Didja miss me?”

                “You shut up,” Adam said, kissing the top of Johnny’s head, his long dark curls falling over Johnny’s eyes. He pulled Johnny into him, where Johnny couldn’t see Adam cry, but Johnny felt him tremble all the same, even as he wrapped his arms around the older man’s shoulders. “You almost _died_.” Johnny felt Adam’s throat working from where the younger man was holding him tight.

                Johnny rolled his eyes so hard that it felt like he just might be able to look inside his own skull. “I did not almost die.”

                He knew it was bullshit.

                Johnny couldn’t tell Adam how many days he had hovered somewhere between their world and the next one.

                He couldn’t tell Adam which one was scarier.

                He just knew that he was really, insanely glad to be back.

                “Yeah, you did,” Adam muttered. It took Johnny a moment to refocus; _did what_? _Oh, die. Back on track._ “I mean…” Adam hesitated, “Jesus _Christ_.”

                “Nope,” Johnny murmured. “Not Jesus, just me.”

                Adam reared back suddenly and his eyes roved over Johnny’s face, “We all thought you were gonna die.” He took a deep breath, his chest shaking as he did so. “It’s just…I can’t even fucking imagine my life without you in it anymore, ‘cause you’re mine, you’re mine, Johnny, and you’re the one thing that I love most in this whole entire world, more than even _hockey_.”

                “It’s okay, Adam,” Johnny reassured the younger man. “I didn’t die, ‘m fine.” He grabbed Adam’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Neither one moved, like holding still could keep the moment from shattering. “You know what?” Johnny said quietly.

                “Hmmm?”

                Johnny peered up Adam, his frigid blue eyes piercing the deep moss green ones.  “You are a fucking sap, Adam Mark McQuaid.” Adam’s face twitched once— _was Johnny serious or kidding?_ —but then Johnny smiled widely. He reached up to cup Adam’s face in one hand (the one free of needles) and kissed him, soft at first, but then hard, harder. Adam sighed when he broke away and Johnny chuckled. “Got any gum?” he whispered softly.

                Adam grinned his lopsided grin, “You kinda need it.”

                He grimaced, “I know.”

                “Don’ worry,” Adam smiled. “I gotcha back.” He dug into the pocket of his hoodie, producing a sheet of foil-wrapped gum—which he tossed to Johnny, who pushed out a piece with his thumbs and popped it into his mouth—along with his cell phone, a slip of paper from a fortune cookie, some loose change, a crumpled and kinda grimy-looking business card…and a condom. “Uh…,” Adam blushed. “S-sorry,” he mumbled as he shoved the items back in his pockets.

                The paper sheets were loud as Johnny shifted positions to lean against Adam. “Mmmm,” he sighed. “Don’t be. ‘M glad you’re here.”

                “Yeah.”

                “You know,” Johnny grinned wickedly, “We could do it here. That’d be a great story.”

                “For whom?” Adam laughed. “Who the hell would I want to tell ‘Hey, guess what, I had sex in a hospital’?”

                “For us.” Adam pulled Johnny’s hands up to his own face and Johnny hissed, “ _Needles_.”

                “Shit, shit, sorry,” Adam’s face fell. He gently pressed his lips to the tape holding the needles in the back of Johnny’s hand.

                “’S okay. Just…don’t do it again, eh?” Johnny grinned weakly.

                Before Johnny knew what was happening, Adam leaned forward, kissing him hungrily. He hesitates for just one second, then pulled the young man closer by the collar of his t-shirt, his body flush against Johnny’s. The kiss dragged longer, longer, and as it did, Adam’s desire became obvious, pressed against Johnny. Drawn tight against him, Johnny feel Adam grow hard against his thigh. Adam’s skin smelled as it always did, like ice, and his mouth tasted like a strange combination of spearmint gum and shitty, too-cheap coffee. His mouth still pressed to Johnny’s, Adam maneuvered behind him, lay down beside him.

                Wordlessly, Adam picked up the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. His chest was just the same as Johnny always remembered it; smooth and muscular and warm. He tilted his head and nudged Johnny’s arms, smiling slightly. Johnny rolled onto his side obediently and Adam undid the knots holding his gown closed.

                Johnny’s heart pounded—vaguely, he could hear the beeping monitor pick up speed—and Adam cupped his big calloused hand over it. He leaned his head down and kissed Johnny’s neck gently. The places where their skin touched felt like they were on fire.

                “Quaider,” Johnny said suddenly. “Did anyone ever tell you how good you look without a shirt on?”

                Adam smirked, “Um…are you on drugs?”

                He pushed in closer, snuggling his face into Adam’s hair, “No. Yes. Maybe.”

                Adam grazed a kiss over his jaw, flicking the taped-over needles gently for emphasis, “You’re high as the stars right now.”

                “Why would I be up there?” Johnny murmured, his hand sliding down Adam’s flat stomach to his waist, gathering him in closer. “I’d lose you.”

                “You won’t ever lose me; I thought _I_ was gonna lose _you_.”

                “I think I’m lost,” Johnny whispered. “Better come find me.”

                Adam dove in with kisses, bites, but Johnny was already gone, lost in the scent of love, or possibly just lust, though he was pretty sure it was a good combination. Adam’s giant hands were all over him, Adam’s tongue tracing patterns over his collarbones. Adam, mouthing down to Johnny’s cock.

                Johnny moaned quietly, tangling the fingers on his good hand into Adam’s curls. Adam stopped abruptly, his head snapping up. “’M I hurting you?”

                “No, _no_ , _Quaider,_ Jesus fuck, _Adam_ , don’t fucking _stop_!” Johnny exclaimed.

                Adam chuckled as he moved back down, the vibrations buzzing around Johnny’s cock and making him whine through his nose. Johnny let his head fall back on his pillow, tugging at Adam’s hair. Adam pulled off again, grinning at Johnny, his eyes sparkling even as his spit formed a thin line between his lower lip and Johnny’s cock. “ _Shhhhhh_ ,” he hissed. “You gotta be quiet.” And then he swallowed Johnny back down.

                Johnny was never gonna get used to that fucking hot wet mouth.

                And he was actually kinda okay with that.

                Johnny would later blame it on the drugs coursing through his system but it was a surprisingly short time before he was biting his lower lip hard enough to taste blood and fighting not to thrust his hips up into Adam. His quiet, chocked-off moans became a quick litany of “Fuckfuckfuckfuck”.

                “Fuck, _fuck_ , Quaider, gonna _come_.”

                Adam just sighed happily, swallowing and swallowing when Johnny came with a strangled groan. He sat back, grinning at Johnny and licking come from the corners of his mouth. “What a way to wake up, eh?” he teased, shoving at Johnny’s shoulder.

                “Oh, fuck you,” Johnny grumbled, shoving back and fighting to keep the smile off his lips.

                Adam narrowed his eyes, “I really don’t think you _can_ right now. Especially with those needles still in.”

**Author's Note:**

> I love feedback. Any and all comments are appreciated!


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